Intelligence
by CaughtInTheStorm
Summary: When Ana Turner, meets the famous Sherlock Holmes, the only one who seems to match her intelligence. They automatically despise each other, but will that hate last? SHxOC
1. Chapter 1

I woke up to the sound of rain pattering outside my hotel window. Just another day in London. I throw the big, white comforter off of my sweaty body and throw on another pair of clothes. Some jeans and an old shirt that has a blood stain from a 5-year-old nose bleed. I decide that I have to buy a flat today! I can't stand living in this hotel anymore. I scurry down the stairs onto the street and hail a cab.

"Baker Street."

I had heard there was a flat available there. 221C I believe. The cab stops and I toss some money at the cabbie. I see a big black door that says 221B, but no 221A or 221C. So I knock on that one. I hear a voice yell, "JOHN! Get the door!" And another, gentler voice yell back, "Why can't you? Oh right the famous Sherlock Holmes has never had too!" Now I say gentler in tone, not in words. The door opens to reveal a short man, who was clearly in the army, with sandy blond hair and a cute jumper.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" I blurt out, before I can think not too. The man, John, stands there looking stunned, usually an expression I get.

"Um, you know what, just forget that. My name is Anastasia, but you can call me Ana." He opens his mouth to speak, but I interrupt him.

"Yes, Doctor John Watson. Pleasure to meet you." We shake hands. "I am inquiring about 221C, is Mrs. . . Umm Mrs. . . Oh yes. Mrs. Hudson is she in?"

John just stands there, clearly still quite stunned.

"Uh, no she's not. She went out for a bit. Come in, there is someone in would like you to meet." I shrug and follow him up the stairs.

A tall man with dark curly hair and bright eyes looks me over.

"Oh good someone new, can I use your phone?"

John looks at me and slowly shakes his head.

"Come on John. One text to a murderer and I'm banned from phones."

I raise an eyebrow.

"Oh look at that she's raising an eyebrow. John, you need to get cleverer girlfriends"

"I'm not his girlfriend and for your information I'm clever enough."

"Oh please." And Sherlock goes back to flipping through a book.

"John, JOHN!" Sherlock yells.

"I've got it! The murder was-" I cut him off.

"Yes the sous chef. Who else could have gotten the knife and had the motives to kill the owner?" Sherlock stares at me, perfectly still. "But obviously it would have been difficult for him to get into the kitchen at three in the morning so he clearly was shagging the owner that way he got into the kitchen then her house. Very boring." Sherlock stares at me.

"John, I don't like her. Make her leave." John starts to step between us, but I push him away.

"Of course you don't," I take a step closer, "Because you feel as though your intelligence is being threatened, which is clearly why you surround yourself, with average minds. No offense, John." John shrugs.

"Which is also why you part yourself from your brother, because he has the intelligent to match yours, yet he was always praised as a child, while you were pushed away. Possibly because you disobeyed authority, while he accepted it, perhaps because he always wanted to be a figure of authority. And you wanted my phone, I believe, to text him. And you always enjoy using different phones to confuse him, but he will always know that it's you even if you don't sign it. Clever enough, am I?"

I am standing so close to him, that I can feel his breath on my forehead. John is standing to the side, clearly impressed, but also worried.

"Who are you?"

"Anastasia Turner."

"Well, Ms. Turner, Mrs. Hudson will be gone for quite sometime, so I suggest coming back this evening. Pleasure to meet you." He has a phony smile on his face.

"You too. John it was lovely to meet you and have fun on your date tonight." He smiles.

"I'll walk you down."

"Thank you."

We start down the staircase and he starts to talk, but again I cut him off.

"You don't need to apologize, John. I understand. And honestly I should because I am him."

"Okay, no you are not. You are way kinder."

"Thank you and here is my mobile number if you'd like to call or text me in case of something. I'll be back tonight to talk to Mrs. Hudson." I give him my phone number and hail a cab.

"Goodbye, John."

"Goodbye, Ana."

* * *

Thank you for reading! This is my very first fanfic, so sorry about any errors or anything!I would really appreciate it if you would review! Thanks again!

- CaughtInTheStorm


	2. Chapter 2

Later that night, I arrive back at the door to 221C, wondering who will open it this time. Probably John again, because, "The famous Sherlock Holmes never had too!" I knock, sharply.

"Hello, you must be Ms. Turner." It wasn't John or Sherlock.

"And you must be Mrs. Hudson." I say, "I was wondering about 221C?"

"Oh yes, it's a basement flat, and not a lot of people like those." She leads me in.

"I actually like them quite a bit."

"Oh that's just wonderful! And also, being the landlady that I am I have to tell you that your neighbors might get loud and rowdy and try to shoot walls."

"Ahh yes that does seen like something Sherlock would do." I smirk.

"Well, this is it." It's a small, damp room with a bathroom. It's definitely not much but it's better than a hotel room.

"I'll take it. Um, you said the down payment was £1000?" I place that amount in her hand and she gives me the shiny key.

"Yes, dear, that's right. Thank you!"

"I'm just gonna run out to grab my stuff then I'll start getting set it. Thanks again!"

I run back up the stairs and into John.

"Oy, sorry mate. Oh Ana!" He says, when he realizes its me.

"Sorry about that,"

"No it's fine. So you got the flat?"

"Yup," I twirl the key around, "I am now the proud owner of 221C!"

"But you do have some pretty obnoxious neighbors."

"Oh I've heard, shooting walls! How terrible!" I say, my voice covered in sarcasm.

"Would you like a cup of tea?"

"I'd love one. Thanks."

We head up the stairs both still chuckling about my joke.

"John! I need them! Where are they?!" I hear as I walk into their flat.

"Where are what?" I ask the curiosity getting the better of me, "Oh right the cigarettes." I answer myself before John can.

"I don't know, you like sugar in your tea?"

"Oh are you making tea? I'd like a cup." Sherlock answers and stops pacing.

"I'm making tea for Ana and I. And I don't think you deserve any the way you've been treating our walls." I snicker.

"Oh, Ms. Turner, we meet again." He glances at meet then rolls his eyes and gets back to his work. I shiver, playfully.

"Ooo, frosty," I say, and John chuckles. He sets out the tea tray and puts the tea cups and everything on it.

"Thank you John. This is lovely."

"See, Sherlock. She's smart and she say thank you. And she just moved into the flat below us."

"Yes, John. Have you not seen the key in her hand?" I roll my eyes. We sip our tea and chat as Sherlock sulks on the couch. When we are finished. I tell him that I should go pick up my stuff and start moving in. I take a cab back to the hotel shove everything in bags, then catch a can back to Baker Street and go down to my flat. There is literally no furniture in the entire small flat. So I catch another cab and head to a furniture store. After looking around for quite some time, I get a couch, a table, few dining chairs, a bed, few living room chairs, and some other furnishings. I ask some of the workmen to come move it into my flat later, but they can only do it tomorrow. I sigh and reluctantly agree. I should not have checked out of that hotel! I head back to my flat and lay my clothes out in a rectangle to sleep on, using a blanket I thankfully had as, well, a blanket. It's late and I've had a busy day, so I try to get some rest. I hear a knock on my door.

"Hey it's John can I come in?" I try to get up to let him in, but my body is unnaturally stiff from sleeping on the floor.

"It's open!" I shout. And he comes in.

"Well, hey there, John, how's your evening going?"

"Fine, but why are you sleeping on the floor?"

"Because I don't have a bed," I say, slowly wondering, why else would I be sleeping on the floor.

"Of course, and you can come up to our flat and sleep in Sherlock's bed," he says, matter-of-factly.

"No way, that would be creepy and weird!"

"Oh no he never like actually sleeps in his bed. It's just there. He usually doesn't sleep."

"Ok alright then, but my bed is coming tomorrow. I'll meet you up there." I just quickly take off my shirt and bra and put on a night shirt. I slip off my jeans and put on sweatpants. I go up the their flat barefoot and hope Sherlock doesn't see me. Not that I really care, but he is such a jerk! Luckily, he's asleep on the couch and John is reading a book. John points down the hall to Sherlock's room and I mouth, "Thanks." I walk in and throw of the covers.

"Eep!" I shriek. I grab the disembodied hand and walk out to the main room.

"I've got to hand to you," I toss the hand at him and shudder.

"Sorry," he whispers. I go back into the bedroom and curl up beneath the thick layers of blanket.

* * *

Later that night, I feel a warm body next to mine and being the cold London nights that they are, I snuggle up to it to get some warmth. It is tall and very comfortable. And I fall asleep easily being held by those loving arms.

* * *

**A/N:**

**This is not set in a specific time period durning the series, I just wanted to use that part about the ****cigarettes. Thank you for reading! And thanks to everyone who followed and/or reviewed! **

**- CaughtInTheStorm**


	3. Chapter 3

The sunlight glared through the window makes me squint and blink my eyes a few times just to get adjusted. I groan and snuggle back into the warm body next to me. _Into the **WARM BODY NEXT TO ME!**_ I let out a small scream, then clamp my hand over my mouth. It's really not that big of a deal and I really don't want to let John know that I slept with Sherlock. Well, not _slept _with Sherlock. John said that Sherlock never slept in his bed. What changed him mind? Was it me? Oh god no, it couldn't have been. Sherlock Holmes doesn't … feel. I look back over at the curly haired man that was lying next to me. He looks oddly peaceful while he sleeps, and I quite like it. I brush away a dark curl from his pale face and his eyes snap open. I quickly draw my hand back and look the other way.

"What are you doing in my bed?" his voice croaky from just waking up.

"What are you doing in," I think for a second. "your bed?"

"Trying to sleep. Geez for a so called 'genius' you are not so bright," he mutters.

"Um, excuse me, I am just as smart as you if not smarter," I say, louder than needed.

"You, smarter than me!" He laughs. "You are so very humorous.

"Why thank you, you objectionable child." My voice laced with sarcasm.

John bursts in, panting hard. Curious, since the furthest away he could have been was the main room, but the tea stains on his cuff suggested that he was having tea with Mrs. Hudson. Her kitchen is significantly farther away.

"I heard Sherlock laugh, is something wrong?" He looks at our "situation."

"Umm, am I interrupting something?" The crease between his eyebrows shows confusion and curiosity.

"Oh, you think that we-" I start.

"Really, John you think I would-" Sherlock begins.

"were doing that?! Oh please he's-"

"actually be doing something like-"

"so loathable, I could barely-"

"that. I thought you knew me-"

"sit here with him, even though-"

"better then that. Her intelligence, though-"

"he is quite smart, although he-"

"is quite impressive for someone with-"

"can be totally oblivious to people's-"

"a child hood like that, someone has got-"

"boundaries, even if he is that-"

"to be resilient to still be that-"

"Intelligent," we finish together.

"Um, I'm just going to ignore that, and you two can come out when you are ready. Out of the bedroom I mean. But judging by that situation, I would have to say that neither of you are, never mind." He leaves still mumbling to himself.

"Well, that was very exciting, too much exactly, so I will be on my way." I throw the covers off, but before I can leave the room I hear Sherlock clear his throat.

"Yes?" I ask, turning around and waiting for my snarky reply.

"Who's Ben?" He says cautiously, as if opening up an old wound.

Except that's exactly what he did.

"Nothing, nobody, a friend, or at least he was. Either way, none of your business." I stammer, my voice shaking and tears threatening to spill. I expect him to pry, to want to know every detail, but he just nods and I run out of the room as the tears pour down my cheeks. John, who is in the main room, finishing up his tea, jumps up and starts towards me, but I shake my head and manage to say, "I'm okay." I run back down the stairs into my flat, and since there are like no pieces of furniture to flop on, I am forced to sit on the ground and sob.

"Ana? Ana! I know you're in there!" Instead of John's comforting voice, its Sherlock's sharp one. "Look I'm sorry, I know what it feels like!"

"Stop lying!" I shout between sobs, "You don't! You've never felt anything! You're – you're a machine!"

I hear his footsteps away, followed by another knock.

"Ana, dear? I know you're not up to it, but the furniture people are here," Mrs. Hudson's clear voice rings through.

I get up and splash water on my face. I open the door to see a tall, but very slender brunette standing at the door.

"Anastasia Turner?" the man asks in a thick Irish accent. I nod my head, wiping my eyes.

"Okay, we have all your furniture and the couch is not put together, but we will do that. Do you have anywhere you can go for an hour or two?" The man offers me the paper to sign, while clearly looking at my chest.

"She can stay in John's flat." Sherlock says, who obviously is still standing there. I quickly scrawl my signature and let Sherlock grab me by the waist and lead me back up the stairs.

"You don't have to do that. God, it makes me feel like you're taking advantage of me or something." I wrap my arms around myself.

"Well, that man would have tried to take advantage of you!"

"You don't think I can see that? I'm not blind!"

"I know you're not! I also know that some men won't take just 'no' for an answer!"

"Why are you so worried about me? You should know that I can take care of myself!"

"I know you can, but you are different."

"Different good or different bad." My voice is quiet now.

"Different good." I can barely hear his response and with that, I know that Sherlock Holmes has never felt this way with any other person.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks again for reading and reviewing! I am going to set a poll up about if Ana and Sherlock should get together, or just more sexual tension! :) So check that out! But I have a really good idea for the next chapter, so I'll see what happens! Thanks again!**

**CaughtInTheStorm**


	4. Chapter 4

_A few weeks later_

I am unpacking the last few things in my flat as I hear men arguing above my head. I look up in annoyance.

"NO! I am not leaving!" That is clearly Sherlock.

"Yes, you are! Your brother needs you!" And that is John.

"Please, Sherlock! We need you." But who is that? I can't tell using only voices, so I go upstairs. I see the badge sticking out of his back pocket, not that I'm looking there… But I mean, I've got to observe right?

"Hello," I say, biting back my recent deduction, "Detective Inspector. Dang it!"

The man looks at me then John.

"Oy! You've picked up another one!"

I know exactly what he means by that, but I ignore it.

"How was your holiday?" I ask, polite. "Oh you don't need to answer that. I already know you didn't enjoy it much. I hate getting sunburned on the first day, when there is no aloe vera around. I'm just getting some tea, I ran out of tea bags. You don't mind, do you, John?"

"Not at all." He says and I busy myself in the kitchen, while Lestrade looks on, shaking his head.

"Lestrade we agreed that I am not coming out of this flat for anything more than an 8! Okay?" Sherlock plops down in the chair, like an angry kid and ruffles his hair. Dear god, I would kill to do that. Wait, what? Come on, this is the "I don't like anyone" Sherlock Holmes. I shake the thoughts from my head and continue on my tea making/eavesdropping adventure.

"Oh come on! It's for your brother!"

"NO!" Sherlock said, angry and folded his arms, "I am not leaving this flat and you can't make me."

"Now, Sherlock that's ridiculous. Quit acting like a child." John said.

"I'll do it." I remark, in a clear high voice, "I mean, I know I'm not as good as Sherlock, but I'm still pretty smart."

"Okay, but only because it is the last resort before Mycroft has my head. Let's go. John?" Lestrade grabs his coat.

"Right behind you. We'll get a cab." John says, as Lestrade walks out of the door. We follow him and as he gets into the police car, we catch a cab.

"Ana, I want you to know that there will be people there that will judge you and be mean to you and will assume things. I know that you have feelings, unlike Sherlock, and I don't want you to get hurt. I know that Sherlock really cares for you and I do too, okay? So just be aware and deduce in your head, then talk to Lestrade and I later." John says, his hand on my shoulder.

"I appreciate the concern, but I'm sure I'll be fine. I mean with something like this, call it a gift or talent, I've learned from all of the bullies."

He nods and we are silent the rest of the way, but my head is spinning.

_Why did he tell me about this? Doesn't he know that I can take care of myself? It is so very interesting why he cares so much for me. I'm only his bloody flat mate and not really! And Sherlock, oh god! On the second day that he knew me, he defended me from pervy delivery guys! The Sherlock Holmes who never cared for anyone, cares for me. Well, and John, but he cares for _me. _I never thought that he would be like this. It really is very curious. Oh god, does he have feelings for me? Oh dear lord! That might just be awful! I must be the first person he's ever had feelings for! Oh god, Ana, you don't know that! He could love someone else that nobody even knows. And that person could be me. _

"Ana? We're here." Johns voice breaks me from my thoughts.

"Um, yes, okay, that works." I say, dazed from my thoughts. We get out of the cab to see yellow crime tape surrounding the entire place.

"Okay, so basic murder, but there seems to be something more going on, because of the situation the woman was in." Lestrade says, walking up.

We start to walk in closer to the building and John pulls me in by the waist. I shoot him a quizzical look and he mummers into my hair, "Those are the people." I glance over to where a brown haired man with a long nose was standing with a lady with dark hair and a mean glint in eyes.

"Oy! Where's the freak, pet?" the lady called.

"Just keep your eyes down and _walk_." John whispered again. We get into the door, followed by Lestrade.

"Okay," he says, giving each gloves, "The woman is in the top room, and Ms.…"

"Turner."

"Ms. Turner, this may be hard for you. This was a very gruesome death." I furrow my eyebrows. What could possibly faze me?

John and I head upstairs, followed by Lestrade. We open the door and there is an empty room, except for a bed. The bed has a woman on it, stark naked, with whip marks all over her body. She is handcuffed to the four posts and looks very uncomfortable. But the most terrifying thing is the fact that there is a hole in her forehead. My eyebrows go up. Then everything goes black.

* * *

_I skip into the bedroom, calling for my mummy. I was six years old and a cute little thing with dark hair and bright blue, all seeing eyes. The problem was I saw the image in the bedroom. My mummy naked on the bed, handcuffed to each post, with whip marks all across her torso. And the bloody, gaping hole in her forehead. My mouth opened wide in a scream that could have woken the dead, only it didn't. It sent my father in. My loving caring father, who at the moment, was my only family left. I ran into his arms and heard a loud strange noise. He collapsed next to me dead, a bullet straight through the head. I screamed again, but my mouth was covered. My body was pushed around to see a strange man in a dark suit. _

_"Your parents aren't coming back. Ever. You are mine. _For_ever." I kicked him as hard as I can in the shin and run. Out of the house. Into the street. Into an ally. Across the park. To the orphanage which I would call home for the next 10 years. My life forever torn apart, by a man with a whip and a cold-blooded heart._

* * *

**_A/N: Sorry if it was too gruesome for anyone! Thanks for reading! I hope you review; it gives me such more fuel to write! Thanks again to everyone following, or anyone reading at all!_**

**CaughtInTheStorm**


	5. Chapter 5

I wake up to an all white room. That is all I see: white. And I feel is the thick pounding through my skull. I moan, loudly. My moan startles a man in the chair next to me. Actually two men, nope three. One short, one tall and one medium. John, Sherlock, and Lestrade. All staring intently at me as if they'd seen a ghost.

"Cat got your tongue?" I ask, my raspy voice begging for water. I can see the relief flood onto all three men's' faces as they realize I'm okay. John darts over to the bed and embraces me, practically smothering me. He walks back to his chair and yawns.

"Well, I'm glad you're okay, Ana. I will be seeing more of you." Lestrade grabs his coat and walks out.

"John, Sherlock. Go home and get some rest. I'm fine and you are both tired." I say, my voice stronger.

"No! There is no way I'm leaving you here. You had a minor concussion after seeing the body!"

_The body. _ And it all comes back to me in one big rush. One so big Sherlock has to get up and literally grab my shoulders and scream at me in order for me to not pass out again. I start to remember about my mother, without being terrified, so Sherlock sits back down.

"What did you just do!?" John asks, his face pale.

"She was remembering a deleted memory and it can knock you out the first few times you remember, especially one like that."

"One like what?" John inquires.

"One with so much emotion and feeling that she deleted so long ago." John yawns again.

"John, go back to the flat! I'm fine okay! I've got nurses and doctors and Sherlock if he wants to stay."

"Only if Sherlock stays." John says. And Sherlock nods his head. John gets up, plants a kiss on my forehead, and leaves. A nurse comes in and asks how I'm feeling.

"Like I got run over with a train." I reply honestly, and see Sherlock grimace.

"Yes, you had a concussion on the doorknob in that door that you were standing in front of, so I imagine you are going to have a headache for a while." She takes some notes then leaves Sherlock and I alone.

"So," Sherlock says, leaning closer, "What was that memory?" He is obviously interested, but I don't want to talk.

"I'm not telling. And you can leave. I only said you'd stay, because I knew John wouldn't leave otherwise." I say, matter-of-factly.

"I won't leave you." Kind words, but his voice is like stone.

I feel a pain in my chest. A sharp one, as though someone stabbed me in the heart. I shake it off, probably just traumatic.

"So, that memory?" Sherlock says, prying.

"Sherlock, I'm not going to tell you. It's too fresh and nothing good will come of it, except me passing out again."

"Why would that be good?"

"Because then you couldn't pry anymore. You are always like this, with everybody. You need information and you'll do anything to get it. Well, not this time. You can't just use me like you do everybody else. I'm not just one of your toys. I'm a real person with real feelings. I have felt sadness, despair, anger, heartbreak," My voice catches on that last one.

"I know you have. But this isn't just about me. That woman's family needs you, just like yours did." And that's it.

"You don't know. You honestly don't. That wasn't the first time I had walked on that exact same scene. I had done it before. In my mother's bedroom. When I was six. She just lay there. I didn't know she was dead until Dad came in. He tried to tell me, but he was dead before he could ever tell." Sherlock's eyebrows are creeping toward his hairline, but I'm not stopping now.

"I was kidnapped. By a man. I don't know his name and he doesn't know mine. I just ran from him to the orphanage that Mum and I passed everyday on the way to the park. She had always said that kids go there whose parents have died. I was there and I stayed there. I was an outcast. I learned to deduce. I tried to figure out whom that man was. Tried to figure out his ways, but it never worked. I was avoided, nobody would talk to me. Except for one. His name was Ben. He has gorgeous blue eyes. He protected me and I, him. It was as easy as that. Until we grew up. When I turned 15, he kissed me. Out of the open right out of nowhere. He told me he loved me and I loved him. We stayed together for 8 months. He had always a detest of most people. I was his exception. One day, he took me to a warehouse and said I found a cure for my loathe of people. Inside, was a dead man, with a knife in his chest. Ben looked at me and grinned. He was happy that this man was dead. It was one less for him to deal with. **_HE KILLED A MAN AND WAS HAPPY!"_** I shout. "**_HE WAS HAPPY AND PROUD. HE LOVED ME! HE WAS THE ONLY PERSON THAT EVER LOVED ME AND HE WAS A MURDERER! DOES THAT MAKE ME_** a killer too?" my voice drops and tears run down my face.

"I ran away again. Just took off. Nobody ever found me. And they never will. He took my heart, Sherlock. He took it and stabbed it, like that man in the warehouse. Now my heart is dead. And it will stay that way." Automatically, Sherlock is up out of his chair and his arms are around me. I sob into his warm, soft chest, until I am out of tears.

"That's the memory," I whisper, "Are you happy now?"

"Not at all. Please stop crying." He gets up from my bed. I lay there, wanting to die. My heart feels worse than it ever has, and my head feels empty.

"You don't care."

"Hm?" Sherlock asks. His mind is elsewhere.

"You don't care." I say, louder, "About my problems! About anybody's problems. Am I right?"

He looks up, like a deer stuck in the headlights.

"_Am I right?!" _I shout.

He looks at me with sadness, an actual emotion in his eyes, and nods.

"I thought so. You can leave." I roll over in the bed, ignoring the pounding that is steadily growing louder through my brain.

"But John said that I should stay." He sounds so hurt and lost.

"And I am saying that you should leave."

"But I want to stay with you." I roll back over to face him, sit up, and look him dead in his eyes.

"No you don't. You want me to forgive you. But I won't and I never will. I actually thought that you cared for me, but I was wrong." My head pounds harder, "You don't care, you don't and you won't. You never will and I am fine with that. Well, I'm not, but I am. Now leave." I lay back down, feeling more tired than ever. I hear his soft footsteps out of the door.

_What have I done?_

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__Thanks for all the reviews and love! I really enjoy writing this!

CaughtInTheStorm


	6. Chapter 6

A couple days later, I'm still in the hospital, drowning in my boredom. Sherlock hasn't been to see me after I shouted at him, but John has. He's come ever day, in fact, just to say hi and ask how I'm feeling. I asked about Sherlock and John just said that he's been in his mind palace a lot lately. But today, DI Lestrade asked to talk to me about the case.

"Hey, Ana, how're you feeling?" He asks, sitting down in the chair.

"Better. I'm just waiting for them to release me from this bloody place."

"Okay. So I'm going to jump right it. Why did you pass out?"

"Because that was how I found my mother when I was 8." My voice is expressionless, I have successfully blocked my emotions.

"Oh!" He scribbles something down, "And what happened after that?"

I tell him the story, pausing for him to take notes. When I'm done, he calls on his mobile for Anderson to come down so he can take real notes.

"You're going to have to repeat the story again." I nod.

"What did the man look like?"

"He was tallish, with dark hair and pale skin. He had a look on his face that made you never want to see again. He made you feel cold and empty inside. Like life wasn't worth living." I sigh, trying to remember the details of so long ago.

"And then what did the man do?"

"He grabbed me, not with force. He knew he didn't need it. After he had killed my parents, he didn't need it." Just then the dark haired man walks in.

"Oy! I don't want to talk to her! He was with the freak's pet!" He yells, pointing at me. I cock an eyebrow.

"Their names are Sherlock and John!" Lestrade grits his teeth, noticeably annoyed. Interesting. He must really think highly of them. Well, I know that he needs Sherlock, but then why would he let me come along? Oh right, he must think that I am pretty, like every other man. Really? I have brown hair that is way too think and bright boring green eyes. Well, they are my best feature, but not much. And now? In my hospital gown, I know my eyes are tired and my hair's a wreck! I'm not very pretty now. But he doesn't think of me in that way now. Something must have happened. Well, I now he wants my story, but that is unrelated. He thinks of me as someone else's territory now. But who? Possibly John, but Lestrade knows that he has had several girlfriends and is dating one right now. Who else? He's never seen me with anybody else! Except Sherlock. Oh gosh! Again, Sherlock being all mysterious! But how could Lestrade know something I don't? I mean, the guy is smart, but he's not that smart. He must have seen something that my quick eyes missed, doubtful; but still there.

"Ana!" Lestrade shouts.

"Yes?" I ask, distracted from my thoughts.

"Anderson here asked you a question." Lestrade says, rolling his eyes.

"How do you know the fr-Sherlock?" He growls.

"I live in the flat below them, 221C. Um, clearly you are finished here and the nurses were talking about discharging, so I will be on my way. Goodbye!" I say, dismissive.

They get up and leave just as the light haired nurse walks in.

"Okay we have all the papers and if you'll just sign here, you're good to go! Do you have someone to pick you up?"

I open my mouth to say no, but a voice vaguely familiar cuts me off.

"Yes, she does." I look up to see a man with dark, slicked back hair. He's holding an umbrella.

"Mycroft. Wonderful to see you!" I say and get out of bed. "Can we talk more once I have real clothes on?" The nurse comes back with my clothes and I get changed and walk out to Mycroft.

"So, you just decide to drop by and see how I'm doing?" I ask, signing the final paper.

"No, I came to give you a ride back to your flat." We walk out to the black car that awaits us.

"How kind of you." I say and get in the car.

"Very. Now I know you have something going on with that brother of mine."

"Oh! So that's why you came. You want to talk about Sherlock." It all makes sense now.

"Well, not exactly. I want to talk about what you intend to do with him." He raises an eyebrow.

"What exactly could I do? He's not the most inviting person."

"I know that. But I also know that you're in love with him."

"I'm what? I am not in love with him! He's Sherlock! He would never love someone like me! He would never love!" I sputter, blushing. Mycroft just raises an eyebrow.

"Oh come on!" I shout and face the window.

"I think I prove my exact point, Ms. Turner. One more thing, though. Don't let your heart be broken by my brother." I look back at him. His eyes are sad. I nod and get out of the car. Back to 221C.

As I walk through the door to John and Sherlock's flat, John stands right up and comes over.

"I'm glad you're back." He says and hugs me. Sherlock, meanwhile is still playing the violin, completely ignoring me.

"Got a visit from your brother, Sherlock," I say, pointedly.

"Wonderful. So I imagine, he told you something that bothered you." He stops playing and walks closer. I feel my pulse begin to race.

"No not at all, Sherlock. He merely suggested that I stay away from you." Okay, so I paraphrase. He cocks an eyebrow, but seems to accept my "lie." He lifts the violin to his chin, but doesn't play.

"And I imagine the rest of your hospital stay was okay. Considering the fact that you came out alive and only lost a few pounds," He says, dropping his eyes to my waist. I immediately curl my arms around it and he raises another eyebrow.

"Go ahead." I say.

"Well, I find it very interesting that you would make such a gesture, considering the fact that in today's society, it is very likeable for women to be skinny. It is a possibility that you didn't like the situation that it came from, but that's not it, by how your wrists are bent. So that narrows it down to a friendly self-hug or self-conscious. Most likely the second one, because you have recently accepted the way your body is, probably in the hospital, when you got hit on by male nurses."

"Wait, how did you know that one?"

"Oh come on, John! Think! She is a beautiful woman, in very emotional and physical pain and those men have seen her probably close too naked! How could they not!" He called me beautiful. Sherlock Holmes thinks I'm beautiful.

"But it is still interesting that you would make that gesture around John and I because you feel so comfortable around us. So obviously, you have changed feelings for one of us. Not John, because he reminds you of your father, so you would never date him for fear of losing him, also because you think it would be strange to date someone so like your father. So, it's me." He concludes, but instead of reacting like a normal girl, I simply say, "Wrong."

"What?" Sherlock says, dumbfounded.

"Wrong, I wasn't hugging myself for any of those reasons. I was hugging myself because I was cold." And I walk out of the room and into my flat. I immediately head for the shower, needing one after three days in the hospital.

_Dear God! How did he know that? Well, he's Sherlock! Of course he did! _

I strip of all my clothes and step into the warm stream of water. And start to sing. Singing in the shower has always been a passion of mine. The way the notes blend with the pattering of the water! I sing song after song. Anything from _Enchanted_ by Taylor Swift to _On My Own _from Les Miséserables.

* * *

**Sherlock's POV**

I walk into Ana's quiet flat, after picking the door with a bobby pin she had left in the bathroom. Handy little things. I sit on the couch waiting for Ana to appear, but she doesn't. That's when I hear the shower turn on. And that's when I hear her start to sing. Her voice is beautiful. Like the breeze on a hot summer's day. Like warm tea on a cold one. She sings song after song and I just sit there. I know that it's in invasion of privacy, but I'm so star struck. I glance around the room, looking for anything and I notice the big, grand piano in the corner. I didn't notice it before. I hear her sing the last note to one of the songs and the shower shut off. I resume my place on the couch. I hear the bathroom door open and she walks out, her hair wrapped in a towel, but her body is unclothed. When she sees me she shrieks and runs back into the bathroom. She emerges a second later with another towel wrapped around her thin frame.

"Spying on me, were you?" She says, and I turn away. She seems so unfazed for a girl that just got walked in on when she was naked, but it seems so fresh and real in my mind. Her green eyes laugh at me from a distance and I smirk.

* * *

**A/N: I just put out a teaser for a new story! I hope you'll read it because I will be continuing soon! I didn't particularly like writing from Sherlock's perspective, but it had to be done! Thanks for reading!**

**CaughtInTheStorm**


	7. Chapter 7

**Ana's POV**

Sherlock was there. Sitting in my flat, while I showered. Sitting there when I came out naked. Naked! Just sitting there. His mouth open, searching for the right words. I wrap another towel around my body, trying not to blush and I remerge from the steamy bathroom.

"Spying on me, were you?" I say, and Sherlock smirks, "I don't know why you are the one smirking, I'm the one that you saw naked from the shower, love."

"I was just trying- just making sure- you were okay."

"The great Sherlock Holmes making sure I'm okay." I take a breath. "That's strange isn't it?"

He cocks an eyebrow, "Maybe I've changed."

I chuckle. "Seriously, when have you ever changed for anybody? Or anything." I add, trying not to increase the awkwardness.

He lifts a shoulder. "You'd be surprised."

"Surprise me then."

And for the first time in his whole life, Sherlock Holmes is speechless.

"Now, if you don't mind, I have to get changed. You can stay or you can leave." I stride back into the bedroom and change into a bra and knickers. I grab a shirt and shorts and head back out. Sherlock is over by my piano and locks shocked to see that I'm not fully clothed.

"Oh come on you saw me naked!" I pull on the shorts and the shirt.

"Do you play?" he says, motioning to the piano.

"No, I just have it in this tiny, little flat for show. Of course I play." I take my seat on the piano bench, a little too close to Sherlock. I place my fingers on the piano and play one of my favorites, "Rhapsody in Blue." I am taken away by the music emerging from the piano. Beautiful and soft, yet fierce and strong. It's not an easy piece, but I've been playing it for so long that it just comes as second nature. My fingers, long and slender, dance across the keys, like a figure skater across the ice. A ballerina belongs in her pointe shoes and my fingers belong on their keys. I finish the piece with relish and Sherlock stares at me.

"That was amazing."

"It was, wasn't it?" I wasn't going to be modest with him, not with that ego.

"Absolutely amazing," he mumbles to himself.

"You play the violin, right?"

"How did you know that?"

"Your fingers have dents and your collarbone has slight discoloration. Plus John told me."

"Figures. He loves it when I play."

"Yes, but not at 3 in the morning."

"I suppose you're right."

"Of course I am, I'm a genius."

"So, what are you doing later?"

"Going to dinner with some old friends. Wait, why do you care?" That got him, speechless again.

"Well, I was just curious." He twiddles his fingers and stares at the ground. He's _lying_!

"Why are you lying?"

"Because I know that you are in love with me."

"Ooh, pretty outrageous accusation, must be getting a little cocky!" I smirk.

"Well, then tell me this. When I said that it was a possibility that you could be in love with John, you blushed, as most women would do when being accused of liking someone they don't. But when I said it was a possibility that you liked me, nothing. Your face went expressionless and you immediately lied, saying you were cold. Very interesting in fact because your pupils dilated because you're in love with me and because you lied."

"Fine, I won't deny it, but that thing that you were talking about is slowly starting to fade."

"Why?" his voice is soft now, like a light fall rain.

"Why, what?"

"Why would you ever love someone like me?"

"Oh, you want me to get all sentimental and stuff, well too bad. I have to get ready for my dinner plans."

"Fine and who are you going with?"

"Friends from high school. After I ran away from the orphanage, I went to a boarding school and made some friends. I had loads of money after my parents died, so I went to a really nice college which took all my money, so now I'm not as wealthy."

"Okay, I'll get out of your way." He gets up off the piano bench and heads toward the door.

"Sherlock." I say. He turns.

"Yes, Ana."

"How could anyone that sees the real you absolutely not love it?" And with that, I walk to the bedroom.

* * *

A few hours later, I get back to the flat, way too tipsy. I jam the key into the door and fall down through the doorframe. I lay on the floor, giggling until John and Sherlock run in, worried.

"Oh god, she's drunk." John mutters.

"Yes, I am Drunk and you must be No Fun!" I slur. John rolls his eyes and he and Sherlock lift me up and carry me to the bedroom. I get thrown on the bed.

"Yay! Again! Again!" I shout. John starts to unbutton my beer soaked pants, but Sherlock's voice stops him.

"John! What are you doing!?" he shouts.

"What does it look like? I'm taking off her pants so she can sleep!"

"No!"

"It's awful sleeping in jeans, especially tight ones like these! Why are you so touch- oh… you like her too, don't you!"

Sherlock blushes, "Maybe. But I will be the one undressing her."

"I don't know what you guys are worried about," I mumble, "I can do it myself." I try to rip the pants off, but it gets stuck around my knees. John and Sherlock both grab them and pull them off the rest of the way. I crawl under the covers and fall asleep.

* * *

The sun glares through the window. A little too bright and a little too early.

"Oh, god!" I curse.

"You must have a massive hangover," says the shirtless Sherlock next to me.

"You don't even know and what are you doing in my actual bed this time?"

"Apparently trying to sleep," he says with a smirk.

"Haha! But really," I say, sarcastic.

"Well, you kind of dragged me in last night. You said something about wanting to be next to your Shurly." He raises an eyebrow, "Then after I did get into bed next to you, you wrapped your entire body around me in ways I didn't even know possible."

"Sorry about that. I've heard from others that I do that."

"But it wasn't so bad you know. Kind of comfortable and warm."

"Thanks, I guess."

"Oh and you also kissed me. Thought you'd like to know."

"Jesus! Now you tell me! Oh lord!"

"Yeah," he says, hiding a grin.

"What are you grinning about? There is nothing amusing about this situation."

"Yes there is. After you kissed me you said, 'Oh lord' and feel back asleep."

"Oh haha. Very funny." I get out of bed and make it to the bathroom. I glare at my horrid reflection in the mirror. Greasy hair, dirty body, bloodshot eyes. But the eyes aren't from the drinking. I pluck the contacts from my eyes and throw them in the toilet. I rummage through my cluttered drawer until I find my glasses. I shove those on my nose and then I can see again.

"You have glasses?"

"No, I'm wearing these for fun, honestly Sherlock, you scare me sometimes." I walk to my closet and pull on a pair of sweatpants and a loose fitting shirt.

"Can you make me tea?" I ask.

"I won't, but I'm sure John will." I roll my eyes and follow him to 221B.

"John, can you make me some tea?" I sit down on the couch and massage my temples.

"Yeah, of course. Did you lovebirds sleep alright?" he says, smiling to himself.

"Oh god John, just shut up." I say, playfully.

"I'll take that as a yes." I roll my eyes and go back to my massage.

"I'd like some, too, John." Sherlock comments.

"Of course. Busy night last night?" John says, smirking again.

"Why would you say that? Oh right, because we 'slept' together." He picks up his violin.

"I was drunk! Come on, guys!" I shout.

"You weren't that drunk. Only had a couple of beers." Sherlock stated, lifting the violin to his chin. I ignore that comment as he starts to play. He looks completely at home when he does, probably how I look when I play piano. His eyes look lost in a deep wonder of time and space and I am just as content staring at him. He plays a number of pieces, each one blending into the last. And each one more spectacular then the last. John comes over next to me and hands me a teacup.

"He does this sometimes," he says, "Just plays until he's done thinking."

"What could he possibly be thinking about?" I wonder aloud.

"You." John says, bluntly.

"Me!" I reply, shocked.

"He obviously likes you. Geez, for a couple of geniuses you two aren't that bright."

"Yes, because we never think about love. And why could he possibly love me?"

"First off, you're clever. And there is nothing Sherlock loves more than a clever person. Second, you question his intelligence often, so that means he'll never get bored. Third, you care for him, which is like the last quality he looks for in someone."

"Oh," I mummer, shocked that John knew all of this. The music abruptly stops, making John and I both jump up.

"Well, I'll be going out for a while." He walks over to the door, grabs his coat and scarf and walks back to the couch. He looks at me dead in the eyes, then grabs the back of my neck and pulls me towards him. Our lips touch and he kisses me for about 4.2 seconds before releasing me and walking out the door. My face turns crimson and I turn to John, who is just as stunned as I am.

"What was that!?"

* * *

**A/N: Ohh! I wonder what's going to happen! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! Please review! :)**

**CaughtInTheStorm**


	8. Chapter 8

I sit in stunned silence.

"Did he just-" I begin.

"What just happened?" John says at the same time.

"I have no idea." I can feel the heat coming to my cheeks.

"Well, considering what I just witnessed, and considering about what Sherlock usually does, I have to tell you this." He turns around to face me. "Ana, Sherlock will do this to you. He will lead you on and it will mean nothing. You have to be prepared, okay? I don't want you to get hurt, so do whatever you have to, to build up your 'walls' again." I nod, still vaguely stunned.

"I am going to go back to my flat to sing sad songs and play the piano, okay? I just want you to know where I am." I say, and I see John give a little grin. I turn to leave the room, but I walk back to John and yank him up out of the couch.

"Also, if you ever tell anyone what I just told you, they will have to pry my hands off your cold, dead, bloody body." I cock an eyebrow, flash a smile, and leave the room. I skip down the stairs to my flat and sit at the piano. The song that comes to mind is by Rascal Flatts, _Here Comes Goodbye._

_I can hear the truck tires coming up the gravel road_

_And its not like her to drive that slow, nothin's on the radio_

_Footsteps on the front porch, I hear my doorbell_

_She usually comes right in, now I can tell_

_Here comes goodbye_

_Here comes the last time_

_Here comes the start of every sleepless night_

_The first of every tear I'm gonna cry_

_Here comes the pain _

_Here comes me wishing things had never changed_

_And she was right here in my arms tonight, but here comes goodbye_

_I can hear her say I love you like it was yesterday_

"No!" I say out loud. That's not what I'm supposed to be singing! An unbelievable attractive man just kissed me! One that I had a crush on! And it was bloody Sherlock Holmes!

_Am I drunk? Or maybe I'm dreaming_

_I oughta be screaming! He suddenly -_

_Everything today is thoroughly -_

_Just like that, without any warning_

_At two in the morning, he suddenly -_

_Everything today is thoroughly - _

_Were there signs, and I didn't see them?_

_A random remark, occasional sigh_

_That day in the park, the gleam in his eye_

_Everything today is thoroughly -_

_Everything today is thoroughly -_

_Jimmy, oh Jimmy, silly boy_

_Gee, what a real swell guy_

_Jimmy, oh Jimmy, oh what joy_

_He makes my troubles fly_

_His glance had fireworks in it_

_We kissed, my heart did a _

_Whiz-bang, flip-flop_

_Heaven for a minute_

_Jimmy, oh Jimmy, don't you know_

_What I can't quite confess?_

_So coax me, implore me_

_I promise you won't bore me_

_Jimmy I might say yes_

_He makes my troubles fly_

_His glance had fireworks in it_

_We kissed, my heart did a _

_Whiz-bang, flip-flop_

_Heaven for a minute_

_Jimmy, oh Jimmy, don't you know_

_What I can't quite confess?_

_So coax me, implore me_

_I promise you won't bore me_

_Jimmy I might say yes_

I end up twirling around my flat, dancing with myself, pretending it was someone else. But I froze on that last note and just sang! I put my hands on my head and thought about what I had done. I was in love with Sherlock Holmes and I sang about it. Oh, who am I kidding the second one is irrelevant, the first one is what it's about. Oh dear, god Sherlock kissed me! I hear a knock on the door. Oh gosh, what if it's Sherlock?! I pat down my hair and smooth my shirt. I open the door. It's John.

"Oh, its you." I sigh.

"Yeah, its me! I heard a happy song!" He looks at me with such disdain that I laugh.

"Sorry, I got carried away. I decided that I've been so broken by love that I should enjoy it while I can, and try not to get too carried away." I lift a shoulder. "Want tea? Since I didn't have any at your flat."

"Sure. And maybe later, you could play something." He gestures to the piano.

"Maybe, but don't expect me to be as good as Sherlock."

"Nobody can be as good as Sherlock." He smirks.

And by reflexes I say, "Oh, I had drinks with this great single girl last night, I thought you might be interested considering you haven't had a girlfriend in a while." I pause. "Your hair. You usually do more to it, but you're feeling so dejected that you didn't do anything."

"Apparently, I was wrong."

"You think?" I finish the tea and set it in front of him. "So, what do you want me to play? I swiped this piece of music from Sherlock's stand and thought I could adapt it." I glace at the notes on the paper and create some chords to play along with the graceful melody. I place my hands on the keys and play, my left hand bounding back from low notes to lower notes, while my right hand plays the sweeping melody. I play for a while, some repeats, until I think it should end.

"So, how was that?" I say, looking up from the piano.

"Um-wow, Ana, that was absolutely-perfectly- amazing! How do you do that?"

"I dunno. I just look at the music and it just kinda comes to me. While I was at the orphanage, I would sneak down in the middle of the night and play. My dad had taught me before he died."

"You have a gift. You and Sherlock should work together. Like a duet. He's like a god on the violin." John smiles.

"That good, am I, John?" Sherlock barges into the flat, and my cheeks immediately start to flush. John shoots me a look and I get control of my emotions.

"Well, how about it, Sherlock? Grab your violin and I'll change the melody to something else on the piano." I look up at him, my face blank. I let some excitement show. He gives me a slight smile, before disappearing out the door.

John winks at me.

"What?" I say, bewildered.

"He only gives that look to the most special people. So you and I."

"Well, thanks for that, glad to know we are both in love with-" Just then, Sherlock walks through the door, violin in hand.

"The telly!" I hurriedly say and the same time John says, "Jam!" I give him a confused look.

"What? Don't you like jam?"

"Of course I like jam, but why? Oh never mind." I catch Sherlock's eye and he raises an eyebrow. I raise one right back at him.

"Ready? I'll play-um-" I think for a second, "2 bars, then you come in with the melody, okay?" He nods in approval. I shove Sherlock Holmes away from my brain and play. I play a little different then before because I can use both hands. I look at Sherlock and nod. He comes in with the melody and we play together. Sherlock and Ana. Violin and piano, together at last. It is absolutely beautiful. No professional musicians could play that better than we are. At last we are finished and he lowers the violin, looking surprised.

"That was exce-" But his words are cut of by my lips. Our worlds collide and his strong arms wrap around my waist. One hand is around his neck and the other in his soft, curly hair. We break apart and John awkwardly says, "Yeah, Hamish for baby names might be in order right now." He drains the last of his tea and walks out, but not before saying, "Use protection."

"John!" I exclaim, turning as crimson as a tomato. We sit down on the couch.

"I'm going to let you know, that I have no idea how to do this." Sherlock says.

"Me neither, my last relationship was with a murderer." I grin slightly. "And I also have a feeling that this isn't going to be very 'traditional.'"

"John usually asks out his girlfriends to dinner." He grabs my hand, then thinks better of it and drops it. I raise my eyebrows and say, "Dinner sounds great."

"I'll pick you up at 6." He say, kisses me on my cheek then tries to walk out, but I grab his hand and pull him in for a real kiss. We break apart, breathless.

"See you at 6," I say with a wink and Sherlock leaves my flat. I twirl around into the bedroom. I look at my closet and think, "_Oh gosh, what am I going to wear?"_

* * *

_Several hours later_

After 20 minutes, I decide on a navy blue dress that shows off my curves. I pair it with a cute jacket and some flats. I put on some mascara and a little lip-gloss, not too much. I hear a knock on the door and I grab the purse on my bed, shove the lip-gloss into it, and run to the door. I open it and there stands Sherlock, looking wonderful in a purple shirt and black jacket. When he sees me, his eyes grow big.

"You look beautiful." I blush and look at my shoes.

"Thanks and you look just as handsome as ever." A twinge of color appears in his cheeks.

"John wants us to go up to the flat, so he can take pictures."

"Okay, he's probably more excited than you are."

"Oh you don't know that." I stare at him with awe. Where was stony Sherlock? We go up and John snaps quite a few shots, then tells us not to stay out to late. He shoos us out the door with some well wishes. We are out in the cold London air. I look at Sherlock.

"You ready?"

"Only if you are." He wraps his arm around my waist and uses to other one to hail a cab. And I wait for the cab, snuggling into Sherlock.


	9. Chapter 9

We get to the restaurant and I am surprised to say the least. He took me to one of my favorite restaurants! But, I do know Sherlock, which means he must have asked…

"John, I asked John." He says, "I guess I wasn't very observant about that." I smile at his innocence.

"Table for two," I say to the man in the front.

"Right this way," he says and leads us to a small booth for two, away from the chatter of the diner.

"Thank you," I say and Sherlock and I sit down. I pick up the menu and start to look at it, but Sherlock just sits there.

"Okay, you have to eat! You're not on a case." I place the menu back on the table.

"I'm not hungry," he says.

"Yes, you are. And you are going to eat, okay?"

"Fine, but only for you." I blush. "And John." He adds as an afterthought. I groan.

"Oh right, I shouldn't mention John."

"Good." We look at the menus for a while until the waiter comes. I order the fettuccini alfredo and Sherlock gets a small salad. I glare at him.

"At least I'm eating." I grin at him, pleased he's trying to impress me. We chat about the case of the woman on the bed and Sherlock says that he thinks I should stay away from the case because he thinks the killer is targeting me.

"That's redic-actually quite possibly, but I should just be around more, because I know the most about this man."

"Yes, but I don't want you to get hurt."

"Sher, that's sweet, but I have to. I need to find this guy and murder him."

"No, I can't let you do that." He runs a hand through his hair and looks at me, with those eyes that could make me melt. "I can't lose you."

"Come on, Sherlock! You met me like a month ago and this is our first date! I would worry more about your lifelong best friend, John, than me!"

"Yes, but you're different." He doesn't go into detail, so I shrug it off.

"Okay, so we've seen two of these women, well, I have seen two, you have seen one. What can we make of this?"

"I honestly don't know. We know that she was probably sexually tortured-" I cringe, thinking of my mum in that way.

"No, I know. Consider my emotions blocked." I say. I take a second to do just that, then I motion for Sherlock to continue.

"And that I could have possibly been directed at you."

"Oh, you don't know that, well for the first one maybe, but the second case was not at all directed to me."

"Possibly, because the murderer knew that Scotland Yard would come to me and guessed that you would come."

"But that's a stab in the dark! How could they ever know that?"

"It's possible that they knew that I liked you," Sherlock says matter of factly. I blush again.

"Yes, that is a possibility, but it is highly improbable."

Our food comes and Sherlock takes his salad and I say, like a prying mother, "What do you say?"

And Sherlock, being Sherlock, mutters, "Thank you." I grin at his lack of manners.

"So, besides talking about recent murders, what else do people do on dates?"

"Well, first off, you're not even supposed to be doing that and I'm pretty sure most of what couples do in dates wouldn't suit your fancy."

"What do they do?"

"Talk about themselves and make out."

"Yes, not really my idea of 'fun.'"

"We could be creepy and deduce people around us." I say.

"Now that sounds better."

"Okay how about that couple over there? She wants to break up, but he won't let her. Probably cheated on her and is denying it."

"How can you know that?"

"Oh come on, how do you not!? He is leaning towards her and holding her hand. He is subconsciously rubbing her ring finger, could be unrelated, but more likely he wants more out of the relationship. She, however, is leaning away from him and not looking him in the eyes. She doesn't trust him, probably from the fact that he cheated on her. He has a box in his pocket with the name, Jessica. Her name is Samantha and I know that because I heard him say that. See, you see but do not observe." I quote Sherlock, just to make him mad.

"Yes, but Jessica is his sister. The gift is simply wrapped with no sense of romantic intentions. Also, the tag flipped open and said, 'Jess, Happy Birthday. Robert.' No 'love,' no anything. So obviously not a romantic interest."

"Then, explain the body language." I raise an eyebrow.

"Exactly the problem you had, she thinks he's cheating on her."

"Yikes, that sure sounds very not fun."

"How would you know? You've never been cheated on! You only dumped a murderer! Which in my opinion was a very good choice." Sherlock smirks.

"Thanks, I guess." We finish up our meal making small talk. Outside, it had gotten considerably colder than usual and I shiver.

"Are you cold?" He asks.

"A bit, yes." He slips his trench coat off and places it around my slim shoulders. I snuggle into warmth of the thick jacket.

"Thanks," I say, surprised a bit by his gentlemanliness.

"Anything for the lady," he says and I knew.

"You got that from the telly."

"Yup, sorry," I glance over at him and see that he is looking guilty. I give him a playful shove.

"Hey, just cause you're a genius, doesn't mean you know everything."

"Uhh, actually it does." I smirk; the "other" Sherlock was back.

"Oh here's our cab." He holds the door for me and let's me step in first.

"Why thank you. But you really need to stop watching so much telly." I grin at him and he grins back.

We get back to the flat, with me happier than I've been in a long time.

"That was a lot more enjoyable, then I thought it would be."

"Well, then. My job is done. I'll see you tomorrow." I place a quick peck on the lips and go to my flat. And of course, yet someone else has broken into my flat.

"John! Oh my gosh! You guys have got to stop breaking into my flat."

"Sorry," he says. I throw my keys into the bowl, drop my purse, and hang up the jacket I'm wearing. Which happens to be Sherlock's.

"Um, are you wearing Sherlock's jacket?"

"Uh, yes I am. He was watching crap telly again."

"Oh, that explains it. So I came here to ask how the date went."

"It was pleasant. I had a nice time." John looks surprised.

"Oh I thought he would be just horrible on a date."

"No he was fine. But I did have to remind him to say him please and thank-yous."

"Well, that sounds more like him,"

"Yeah, so it's been nice. Knock next time. Have a nice night."

"Okay, Ana. I'll leave. Sleep well."

He leaves and I close the door behind him and push a chair up against it to make sure nobody else gets in. I shower and get dressed in my pajamas. I go to sleep dreaming about warm blue-green eyes, but I wake up thinking about cold brown ones.


	10. Chapter 10

I wake in a cold sweat, still thinking about the cold brown eyes that matched mine as their owner held a knife to my throat. I breath hard and lay back on the pillow. This was the third time I'd woken up tonight, screaming in terror. Every time, Chase had come up and tried to murder me for leaving him. I had these nightmares ever since the night that he showed me his new "hobby," but it was different tonight. It's like the date with Sherlock had triggered something that made me feel guilty for leaving Chase. But why should I be guilty? He's a murderer! I shake off all the thoughts and get out of bed. I definitely know that I'm not getting anymore sleep tonight. But by now the peaks of dawn are showing and I decide to start my day now. I slip on a dressing gown and start a pot of tea. I sit down on my couch and sip on my cup of tea. I grab a quilt off the corner of the couch and pull it around me. I hear a slight knock, as if someone's trying not to wake someone. Of course Sherlock (obvious from the fact he was probably awake and there is no way John or Mr might be trying not to wake me. I set my cup down onto the coffee table and stand up, the blanket still around my shoulders. I take his trench coat off the hook to give to him. I unlock the door and move the chair.

"Hey, Sherlock," I hand him his coat back.

"Thanks and are you okay? I heard you screaming a few minutes ago. I would have been here early, but I had to uh... take care of something."

"Like put your trousers on?" I raise an eyebrow and he blushes. "John told be about Buckingham Palace."

"Oh, god! I told him not to tell you!"

"I think that was after he told me. Would you like some tea?"

"I'd love some, thanks." I pour him a cup and join him on the couch. We sip our tea in silence for a while until Sherlock asks me a question.

"Why were you screaming?" He asks. "If you don't mind me asking."

"Just a nightmare."

"But that's interesting, because you haven't had them for a while. You had them way more when you first moved in, but then they decreased." He sees my face fall. "I'm sorry, I'll shut up."

"No, it's fine, really. Um, I think that I'm slightly guilty that I'm dating you."

"That's odd, why would that be?"

"Uh, I think that it's related to Chase."

Sherlock's eyebrows shoot up.

"The murderer?" He says, stunned.

"I know it's not that I don't like you because I'm pretty sure I love you, but-" My words are cut of by Sherlock's lips.

"I love you, too," he says. And our lips touch once again.

"Well, isn't that just darling," We break apart staring at the door, which had been successfully picked, while we were confessing our love.

"Chase?" I say, in surprise, jumping up.

"Chase," Sherlock growls.

"Sherlock Holmes, I always hoped I'd meet you. Pleasure." But he walks over to me, not Sherlock. I back up into Sherlock's arms, my face expressionless.

"What aren't you happy to see your fiancée?" His eyebrow jerks up and his brown eyes twinkle with malice.

"Um, ex fiancée and no, not really," Sherlock wraps his arms around me, protecting me.

"Oh! Am I interrupting something? I guess I've never really introduced myself. Chase Owens, and well, Ana knows what I do," he says sending me a wink and reaching out to shake hands with Sherlock. I open my mouth to say something, because something doesn't feel right, but their hands meet and Sherlock crumples to the ground.

"Well, now that that's out of the way." He rips my dressing gown off, revealing a very skimpy tank top and very small tight shorts.

"That's better." He smirks and I wrap my arms around my midriff, trying to protect myself.

"You have no right to break into my flat and to knock out my Sherlock. That is if you didn't kill him."

"Is that what you think I am? A killer?" My heart rushes to him.

"No, never-"

"Well, too bad because I am. And you're the one I've wanted to kill the most since you left me." My heart beats faster. There is no way that John is up, much less listening to the conversation happening down here. Oh god, this is it. I'm dead.

"I usually make the deaths quick, but for you, the one who broke my heart, I am going to make it slow and painful until you break." I take a sharp breath and raise an eyebrow.

"Good luck." I send a mental message to John: WAKE UP!

"Oh you'll need it." He takes out a long, skinny, silver knife. My heart just about stops at the sight of that. He presses the cool metal against my neck.

"How about your pretty little neck? You will never be able to speak words again. Or you know live."

"At least I die with pride. Unlike you, you filthy rat!" I spit in his face. He looks at me, the cold burning in his eyes. He slaps me across the face, hard. I bite the inside of my cheek, drawing blood. I close my eyes, rid them of emotion, then open them. Stony hard emerald, warning they may cut. Chase presses the blade harder against my neck and I feel the blood being drawn. He just keeps pressing it harder and harder, waiting for me to break, but I don't. I stand there, looking him dead in the eyes and ignoring his hand that is too low on my back. He slaps me again, harder.

"Oh, just give up! I'm stronger than you think!" I shout in his face.

"Oh I know, that's why when you break it's going to be even better." He punches me in the eyes and I can literally feel it swell up, but I don't feel any pain or anger. Just cold. I feel the blade cut into the skin on my forearm and pull down. Numb. He slaps me again. Cold. More knife. Numb. Finally, I scream. As loud as I can. John comes. I get dropped. I feel Sherlock's body beneath me. I brush the dark curls out of his face. I see tears land on his pale skin. They are mine. Gunshots. Glass breaking. Am I okay? No. I feel someone grab my shoulder. React. Punch. Kick. Harm. No one will touch me. I am invincible. I am nothing. I look at my hands. Blood. My vision blurs over. Sherlock. I feel his neck for a pulse. Someone yanks my hands away. Punch. Kick. No one will touch me. I hear yelling. I feel a syringe in my arm. The one with out the blood dripping. Black.

* * *

**A/N: I had a really fun time writing this one! Do you guys like Chase? Please review! Thanks!**

**CaughtInTheStorm**


	11. Chapter 11

I wake up screaming. Not just "Oh no! I'm scared," more like "My life is slowly ending." And in a way it was. My eyes opened to a hospital room. Blank. Nobody there. I try to lift a hand to brush hair from my face, but they are tied down. I swallow, my throat like sandpaper. Blank. Where is anyone? John? Lestrade? Mrs. Hudson? Sherlock? My throat chokes. Sherlock. He could be dead for all I know. Buried already in a grave with two words: Sherlock Holmes. I close my eyes again. And when I open them I feel nothing. It's better that way easier. I don't have to deal with emotions or anything. No love, no hate, no loss. I lay there, just thinking. Until Mycroft comes in.

"Well, Ms. Turner, I'm glad you're finally awake."

"Ana, please," The words come out rough.

"Where are Sherlock and John?" I ask, worried.

"Sherlock is fine, he got discharged a few nights ago."

"How long have I been out?"

"A few days, the nurses thought it would be better for your healing process."

"And is John okay?" I question.

"Yes, he's fine. He just had a broken nose." I think back and I remember punching him. But I feel nothing.

"They are here right now, if you'd like to see them."

"I would like that. Thanks, Mycroft."

"Anytime, Ana." He walks out to get them and I prepare myself for whatever he brings back in. Sherlock and John walk back through the door. Sherlock looks fine, a little distressed and crumpled. John also looks good, his nose probably fixed, but there is still some bruising.

"Ana," Sherlock breathes, "You're okay!" He rushes to me and gives me a hug. I put my arms around him, but still I don't feel anything. I have to remind myself that it's better this way. It's kind of ironic actually, because now I know Sherlock feels more emotion than I do.

"Sherlock," John whispers, "Don't do that." Sherlock lets me go.

"Why?" He says.

"Look at her face." They both stare down at it. I stare back, with cold dead eyes.

"Oh, god." Sherlock says, and begins to pace. "Oh god, oh god."

"You've blocked your emotions haven't you. Good." He looks up at the wall then back at me. "D'you know what that does for the rest of us?"

"The rest of whom?" I say.

"Your friends." He says cold.

"No. I may have had friends, but not anymore." John looks puzzled.

"Look what happened at the flat, was because of me. If you and Sherlock hasn't of been there, then you would both be okay. Sherlock wouldn't be all loopy-"

"I'm not loopy," he retorts.

"And you wouldn't have a hurt nose."

"My nose doesn't hurt."

"It doesn't matter. I can't keep endangering you guys. You guys are too important to the rest of the world." I pause. "And to me."

"Look, Ana. I know it's hard to face your emotions. I live with Sherlock, but you can't live your life like this. It's not right." He pleads.

"It has to be. You guys are some of the few people in the world that I trust. And you have to trust _me _when I say this: _I can't hurt you._" John kneels by the bed and starts to untie my wrists from the bedposts.

"Ana," he mutters, "If you do this, you are going to break Sherlock's heart. Hear that? Break his _heart_. You have made such an impact on his life and there is no way that he can ever repay you, okay? He loves you. With all of his heart. He _needs_ you."

"And I need him, but in order to do that, I have to be alone. It's what protects me." John looks as though I've punched him. He moves to the other side of the bed and I look up at Sherlock, still pacing.

"No, it's not. We will protect you, okay? It's what friends do." I shake my head.

"Yes, friends protect each other."

"Great, so we're on the same page." John finishes untying me and I rub my raw wrists.

"No. Friends protect each other," I repeat. "And I have to protect you guys, by being alone. I know you don't understand, but please try."

"I can't." John stands up. "We're here anytime you need us." He walks out. Sherlock stops pacing, walks to my bed, and looks at me with those gorgeous eyes that once made me melt. He places his soft lips on my forehead.

"Anytime." And with a swish of his trench coat, he is gone. I place my head in my hands, a lump in my throat, but no tears come.

The next morning, I wake up delusional. Screaming for my mum and dad. My hands are latched down again, this time with Velcro. I manage to slide my wrists out of them and try to get out of the bed.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no!" says a small, red headed nurse running in. "You are not strong enough to get out of bed." She gently pushes me back into bed.

"Oh, come on!" I groan.

"Ms. Turner, its for the best. You suffered some very bad injuries. You are very lucky Dr. Watson found you. You'd be dead if he didn't."

"Then, why do I feel that way inside?" I mutter, unintelligible.

"Also, you have another visitor."

"Send them in." I say. She rushes out side and in comes DI Lestrade.

"Ms. Turner," he says. "I'm glad you're doing better."

"Yes, thanks. Now, what do you need?" He raises his eyebrows at my rudeness.

"I need to talk to you about what happened to you that morning."

"What about it? My ex-fiancée showed up and tried to kill me. Is there anything we really need to discuss?"

"How did he get in?"

"I'm guessing through the door."

"Was it locked?"

"No, after Sherlock came in, I don't think I locked it."

"And why did Sherlock come over?"

"Because he heard me scream."

"And was that because of Mr. Owens?"

"Well, not really. It was a nightmare about him."

"And why do you think that happened? A trigger, or something?"

"Well, I had a date with Sherl-"

"Sherlock went on a date?!" He exclaims.

"Yes, with me in fact."

"Oh god, who would of thought… Never mind. Continue."

"Well, I was thinking that maybe I was feeling guilty, because I did walk out on him, but now I think that I could tell that he was going to come. I think my mind blocked it from me."

"Oh, and what happened after he came?"

"Well, he drugged Sherlock, then tried to kill me."

"Ms. Turner, what really happened?" I take a breath.

"Well, he drugged Sherlock, then told me that he'd always wanted to kill me. He took out a long silver knife and pressed it against my neck. I spat in his face and he slapped me. He pressed the knife harder against my neck, breaking the skin and he slapped me again. I said something about me being strong and he punched me." I gesture to my black eye. "He cut the skin on my forearm and then slapped me. I screamed. He dropped me. John came, tried to help me. I broke his nose. I heard John shoot at Chase, but he escaped through the window. I tried to feel Sherlock's neck for a pulse, but I think the paramedics thought I was trying to choke him. Then they stuck a syringe in me and here I am."

"That seems pretty bad. What did you feel?"

"Nothing."

"You felt nothing?"

"That is what I said."  
"Yes, I heard."  
"Is that all? Because I would like to bargain with these nurses to let me out of here." Lestrade smiles.

"Okay, I'll leave you to that." He starts to walk out, but turns around. "Just curious, you do like Sherlock right?"

"Of course I do."

"Good." Then he walks out. The nurse comes back in, looking the way that Lestrade left.

"Who was that?" She says with a slight blush.

"DI Lestrade. He's single." I say with a wink, hoping that will make her like me more.

"Oh." Her cheeks are turning crimson.

"So, when can I get out of here?"

"Um, I'll go check." I lay on the bed, when my phone buzzes. It is in with the clothes on the chair next to my bed. I reach over and grab it.

**When are you getting out?**

**JW**

**I don't know. Nurse is finding it out. I think Greg might have a date**

**AT**

**Did he come to question you?**

**JW**

**Yup**

**AT**

**Got to go. Sherlock's bored**

**JW**

**Good luck**

**AT**

The nurse comes back in the room, just as I finish sending the text.

"Um, as long as you can walk okay, you are free to go. Is anyone picking you up?" She asks.

"No, just me."

"Maybe that detective could come pick you up." I grin.

"I think he's busy."

"Okay," She looks at her clipboard. "So, about that walking?" I swing my legs off the edge of the bed and plant my feet. I get up and walk the length of the room and back.

"Okay, that looks great! I have a little paperwork for you to fill out and you can get your clothes on." She hands me a small stack of paper. I slip into my clothes. These aren't the skimpy pajamas that I was wearing, so Sherlock or John must have brought them. I grab the pen and quickly fill out the paperwork. Just a bunch of signatures. I hand it back to the nurse and she shows me to the entrance.  
"Here" I hand here a slip of paper with Greg's number.

"Thanks." She mutters. And I push open the doors and stumble into the sunlight. I feel a strong hand on my back and automatically tense up.

"You okay?" A tall brown haired man with deep blue eyes asks.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Wow." He murmurs.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, its just beautiful strangers don't usually fall into my arms."

"Oh," I breathe and grin.

"What?"

"I don't usually get corny pick up lines from cute strangers." I giggle. What why was I giggling? I was in a relationship. With someone that could possibly get killed because of me. Oh well.

"Can I give you a lift back to your flat?" He asks, a cheeky grin on his face.

"I'd love it." I nod.

We drive back to the flat chatting about nothing. He walks me to the door and gives me his number.

"This was great. I hope you'll call me." He says.

I reach into my pocket for the key, but there is none.

"Oh crap! I forgot my key! I'll just knock." I do that.

"I'll wait with you." He grins at me and I return the gesture. The door swings open.

"Who's this?" Sherlock says, hurt.


	12. Chapter 12

_"Who's this?" Sherlock says, hurt._

"Just someone giving me a lift home." I say to Sherlock, but mouth the word "brother" to the watching man. He nods in acceptance.

"Well, thanks for the lift." I give him a quick hug and I can feel Sherlock's glare on my back.

"Anytime!" He leaves with a slight wave and then gets into the car. I turn back to Sherlock.  
"Well, that was interesting." I say and push past him.

"What? That you show up with a guy that you are obviously going to call because he gave you his number?" He says, defensively. "Trust me! You can do better."

"Oh really? Like who? You?" I scoff. "Come on, Sherlock, be real." His face falls.

"Because he's a doctor then? Or likes animals? I like animals."

"No, you don't and jealous much?"

"I am not jealous." He says.

"Oh, denial. Doesn't suit you, now does it?" I scurry down the stairs past him and into my flat. The comforting sights calm my heart rate. But there is some thing that just about makes my skin crawl. A single rose on the windowsill. The one with the shattered glass. Pure red, perfection. And one thorn. Poking out of the side. I grab the stem and throw it out the window.

"And good riddance!" I say aloud, but I know in my heart that I will be seeing more of Chase. Maybe he'll leave me alone for a little. I drop all my clothes on the living room floor and walk to the bathroom, naked. I stand under the warm stream, until the water turns icy. Then, I dry off and walk out to the piano. I do some basic scales and arpeggios, and then I start to play some songs. Not really anything specific, not even real songs. Everything just blends together. Some Bach here, some Mozart there, mostly just me making stuff up to clear my head. When I finally strike the last chord, it is dark out. I have literally played for the whole day. I hear the smallest little knock on my door; so quiet I even wonder if it's there. I crack open the door, and see Sherlock's startling gaze staring back at me.

"I just waited until you were done playing, until I came in."  
"But I played for the entire day."

"Yes, I am aware. May I come in?" He says and we walk in and sit on the couch.

"So, you just waited around for the entire day? You could have just come in."

"No that would have been rude."

"Hm, John's taught you well."

"Yes, I suppose he has."

We sit there in silence for a few seconds, until Sherlock pips up.

"So, I see you tossed that man's phone number."

"Yes, I did."

"So, that means you are not interested."

"Not necessarily." I reply.

"How so?"

"I could have already put his number in my phone."

"Interesting."  
"How so?" I mock. He raises an eyebrow, but goes on.

"Well, it would just be curious that you would do such a thing when you still have feelings for me."

"Sherlock," I grab his hand. "I have to protect you, I don't want to hurt you. Look, I know you can protect yourself. I know you're strong and brave and everything good. But I don't know what Chase will do. I don't know what he'll do to you. I don't want to risk that, Sherlock. I don't want to risk you. Your life is too precious. You are too important to too many people. John, Mrs. Hudson, your clients. They all need you."

"No, they don't and what about you? John and Mrs. Hudson love you!"

"No, they don't! Not the way they love you. And I don't have any family or anything." I press my fingers against his soft cheek. "I'm alone."

"No, you're not!" He stands up, and then sits down. "You have me."

"Yes, but you will find someone that loves you."

"No, I won't. I'm lucky that I have found you. You are everything to me."

I smile, in spite of the conversation.  
"No, the work is everything. There will be other cases and other murders. You will get on with out me."

He just sits there and stares at me, his eyes piercing my heart against the wall. I know that he won't leave, so I stand.

"I'm going to bed."

"I'm coming with you." My brow crinkles, but I let him follow me anyways. I slip into the bathroom and change into a huge shirt. It comes to my knees and hides any figure I have. I slide into the bed next to Sherlock who has discarded all of his clothes, except his undergarments. I lay on my back, hands folded on my stomach, and think. Then, I snuggle down next to Sherlock's already sleeping body and fall into sleep.

When I wake in the morning, the sun isn't there. The rain is pattering on the window and Sherlock is gone. Probably up in his flat doing something interesting. I glance over at the clock: 9:55. I throw the covers off of me and stretch my arms. I walk out into my flat, where Sherlock sits at the piano, long fingers extended. He brushes a key, but doesn't make any sound. I stare at him curious, but silent so he doesn't recognize me.

"Sleep well?" he asks.

"Quite," I reply. "Tea?"

"Sure." I quickly brew up a pot and give a cup to Sherlock, who is still at the piano, and slowly sip mine.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." I say, a bit shocked at our monosyllable communication. He stares at the black and white keys, while I stare at the ceiling of the flat.

"Play." He said suddenly.

"Hm?" I inquire.

"Play the piano."

"Okay." He moves over on the piano bench and gives my cup of tea to him. I place my fingers on the keys and gently play the light bouncy song, _An American In Paris_. One of my favorite composers is George Gershwin. I play the first movement, then stop and grab my cup of tea from Sherlock and remove myself from the piano bench. I watch Sherlock gaze at the piano, then me.

"How do you do that?" He wonders aloud.

"The same way, you beautifully play that violin." I reply, sipping my tea. I lean into his warm body. "Practice." He glances back at me in a way that would make me jump out of my skin on a normal day, but not on this one. My heart remains thumping in the same tempo, my eyes stay focused on his. Nothing changes. At least that is until; Sherlock leans forward and presses his lips against mine. His arms wrap around my body so that there is no room between our bodies. We break apart and his lips brush my ear.

"I love you." He mummers. My heart splinters because I know that I can't love him. I can never love him as long as Chase wants to kill me. I abruptly stand up and rush to the bedroom, babbling something about a shower. I throw off all my clothes and turn on the hot tap. The warm water runs over my shaking body. The tears mix in with the comforting flow and all of it, together, disappears down the drain.


End file.
